22. Weston
22
Weston
I never celebrate my birthday anymore. When your wife dies and your son won’t talk to you, there’s not much to celebrate. And given I haven’t seen the only woman I can think about since I lost Lydia, this year is no exception.
I spend the morning throwing myself into work until I’m too numb to notice. And when Pauline, Lydia’s best friend, shows up at the office with a bunch of flowers and a cupcake with my name on it, I want to crawl under my desk and hide. But since I’m the boss, and a grown man, I refrain.
How did she slip past my assistant, Nina? She’s usually my first line of defense against unplanned visitors, but when I spot her grinning through the glass, I get the sense she might have encouraged this.
“Hello, hello!” Pauline chirps as she enters my office. I don’t entirely know what she’s doing here; she’s never celebrated my birthday before. The first six months after Lydia’s death, she took care of me with food and regular house visits. Over time those faded to phone calls, then to texts. So seeing her here in my office is kind of jarring.
“Happy birthday,” she sings, thrusting the flowers into my hand and setting the cupcake down in front of my laptop. “It’s not Lydia’s famous lemon cake,” she adds with a wistful smile, “but it will have to do.”
My taste buds respond to the mention of lemon cake, anticipating the tang before I can remind myself it’s not coming. Lydia used to make me one every year for my birthday, and the past three years haven’t been the same without it.
I rise warily from my chair. “Thanks, Pauline.”
She rounds the desk, pulling me into a tight hug. I get a face full of blond curls and Chanel No. 5, before she pulls away.
“Let me take you to lunch.”
“Uh…” I glance down at my laptop. I’ve got shitloads of work to do, because I’m still catching up from the time I took away at the beach house.
Besides, I’m really not in the mood.
I’d almost been looking forward to my birthday this year. With Jess back at home and Daisy around, things felt more hopeful. I’d imagined the three of us sitting down to an enjoyable dinner, even if Jess spent the evening sulking. It would have been something, at least.
But the last few weeks have been a whole lot of nothing. Nothing but work, long hours swimming laps in the pool, and fucking average coffee.
“Come on.” Pauline slips her arm through mine, tugging me away from the desk. “We’ll be an hour, tops. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I sigh, letting her drag me out of the office. She chats amiably as we ride the elevator, then exit through the glossy lobby of the high-rise onto the bustle of Fifth Avenue, but I barely hear a word she says because my mind has strayed to Daisy, to that moment we stole together alone in the darkroom. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since it happened.
And I hate myself for it.
The way it felt to have her melt in my arms, her mouth soft and needy as she rubbed herself against me. The moan she made when I kissed her throat, the breathy way she told me she wanted me between her legs.
What is so wrong with me that I’m even more turned on by the fact she’s a virgin? Knowing that she’s never given herself to someone else, that no man has ever been inside her? It makes me want to claim her for myself.
But it’s more than that. I haven’t been with anyone besides Lydia, and truthfully, I never thought I’d want another woman with any kind of intensity again.
Boy, was I wrong.
I’ve never felt the kind of pull I feel for Daisy. Don’t get me wrong; with Lydia there was attraction, and love—so much love—but I didn’t have this animal stir to life inside me, this primal, protective need to possess her, to make her my own. With Daisy, I feel slightly unhinged, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. All I know is not acting on this is taking every ounce of my strength. Especially when I know she’s at my house most afternoons, using the darkroom.
I know because her prints hang above the bathtub downstairs, and new ones appear on an almost daily basis. There’s the shot I took of her in the meadow where she’s holding the daisy. One of me gazing at a maple tree. One of me striding through the grass toward her, grinning like mad. And so many others I wasn’t aware she’d taken. It makes me happy to know she’s doing what she’s meant to, but it’s bittersweet because I don’t get to see her light up.
I don’t get to see her at all.
“Wes?” Pauline snaps me from my thoughts as she leads me into an Italian place for lunch. I didn’t even notice the four blocks we walked from the office.
“Sorry,” I mutter as we take our table. I unfold the napkin and slide it across my lap, forcing a smile onto my mouth. “So how are you, anyway? How are the kids?”
The word “kids” isn’t quite right. Hers are a similar age to Jesse. She and Lydia met at a Lamaze class, and our kids grew up together.
“They’re good. Julia is interning for a law firm uptown, and Sammy’s loving Harvard.”
I sigh, trying not to think about my son, ignoring me, somewhere in the city. He hasn’t so much as texted to wish me a happy birthday, but that’s no surprise. He didn’t do it for the previous three years, either. I figured that putting a roof over his head for a few weeks might earn me the tiniest show of gratitude, but apparently not.
We order our food and Pauline turns to me, her brow knitted in concern. “What’s going on with you?”
I shrug, taking my glass of merlot from the server. “The usual.”
Pauline sips her chardonnay. “I thought things were better lately,” she says gently. “Over the past year, you seemed… I don’t know. You seemed different, Wes. Like you were finally coming out the other side.”
I swallow my wine, not meeting her gaze. She’s right. I had been feeling that way, and that was largely thanks to Daisy. She was the one who brought light and hope back into my life.
And now, it’s gone.
“Wes.” Pauline sets her wine down and reaches across the table to touch my hand. “Talk to me.”
Despite myself, I feel a flash of gratitude for her. This woman was at my side through the worst days of my life, through the worst days of her life. We share a bond now that runs deeper than her being my wife’s best friend. We share the loss of someone we love. And I’m desperate to unburden myself, to tell her—hell, to tell someone —about how tormented I’ve been ever since Jess brought Daisy home.
“I met someone,” I mumble, right as the server sets my fettucine in front of me. I stare at it blankly, my appetite AWOL.
Pauline gives an understanding nod. “And you feel guilty? Because of Lydia?”
I grimace. Maybe I should feel guilty about that, but I don’t. Lydia told me before she died that she wanted me to find someone else—that I would find someone else, and she would be happy for me.
Of course, I doubt she imagined it would be Jesse’s ex.
“No. I know she’d want me to be happy.”
“Yes. She would.” Pauline nods, reaching for her fork. “So then… why do you look so miserable?”
I twirl my fork through my pasta, my stomach churning. I can’t tell Pauline the truth, that I’m falling for my son’s ex-girlfriend. Pauline is kind and caring, but even she has her limits.
“It can’t…” I blow my breath out slowly. “It can’t go anywhere.”
Pauline sets her fork down. “Why on earth not?”
I cringe, poking at my food. “She’s younger than me.”
Her eyes narrow. “How much younger?”
God. I need to generalize.
“Uh… not quite thirty.” I glance up. “But she’s mature, really mature. And smart, and kind, and so creative. She’s a photographer, and she’s good.” I think back to the prints hanging in the darkroom, the contrast of light, the composition. I’m not a photographer, but with a background in design and advertising, I can tell she knows her stuff. “Really good,” I add.
Pauline’s mouth twitches with a smile. “Did I tell you Julia is dating an older man? He’s in his late thirties.”
I frown, stuffing a forkful of pasta into my mouth. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Not exactly.” She pushes her blond curls over her shoulder with a shrug. “But… does it really matter? I haven’t heard you talk about a woman like this since Lydia died.”
I swallow. I haven’t felt like this about a woman since then, either.
“You know what I think?” Pauline says. “I think you’re making excuses.”
I splutter. “I’m sorry?”
She sighs, reaching for my hand again. “It was awful losing Lydia, honey, I know, but you have a chance to be happy again, and you’re turning it down? You must be scared, Wes.”
“Scared?”
“Of course. Scared of loving someone new and losing them all over again.”
I slug back my wine, considering this, because there’s a whole other part of the story she doesn’t know about Jess and his history with Daisy. And that’s something I won’t be sharing with her.
“Maybe,” I mutter, shoveling more food into my mouth. I’m not hungry, but I know I need to eat. Besides, it would be rude if I didn’t, given Pauline dragged me here.
“You like this woman, right?”
I nod. I more than like her.
“I know you, Wes—if you like her, you really like her. You’re not a casual guy. You must connect deeply with her.”
I scrub a hand over my beard, thinking of the Steely Dan records, the hike over the rocks, the long talks about what we’ve been through. I haven’t connected with someone like that in a very long time. In fact, I doubted I ever would again. It’s not only sexual, although the chemistry is definitely there; it’s the enjoyment I get from her company, the sense that she could be more than simply my lover. She could be my best friend.
I rake my hand through my hair, misery twisting through me. I lose the love of my life, then I meet someone who could be just as great, and I can’t have her. This is fucked.
Pauline studies me over her wineglass, compassion swimming in her eyes. “If you like her this much, you need to go for it. You’ve been through hell, Wes. You deserve something good.”
I send her a faint smile as I reach for my wine again. As much as I want to believe her, I know it isn’t that simple.
By the time I finally drag myself home from the pool, the sky is a dusky purple, fading into black. I did everything I could to distract myself from Pauline’s words, to make myself exhausted and numb, and now I can open a bottle of wine in front of the TV before crawling into bed.
Another year, and I’m no better off than the one before. If anything, I feel worse.
The front door shuts behind me with an ominous thud, and I shuffle into the kitchen, dumping my bag on the floor and placing my pizza on the counter. I don’t know why I grabbed dinner on the way home. I still have no appetite. This time of year is always hard without Lydia to greet me at the door, her lemon cake on the counter. My tongue misses the sweet lemony tang of the cake.
And my heart misses having someone to celebrate with.
I eye the pizza box for a moment, then shove it away, deciding to go straight for the wine bottle instead. As I reach for a glass, a throat clears in the living room. I glance toward the noise in fright, my pulse scattering.
And there, holding a cake blazing with candles, stands Daisy.
My heart nearly stops.
“Happy birthday,” she says uncertainly.
I stare at her in shock, taking a step forward. “What…?”
“I know you don’t want to see me anymore,” she adds hastily. “And I’ll leave right after this. I just… I wasn’t sure if Jess… Well, you know. I wanted to make sure someone celebrated your birthday.”
My chest fills with static.
“I was here using the darkroom anyway.” She lifts a shoulder. “I figured I’d hang around a little longer. I hope that’s okay.”
I swallow, my voice thick with emotion as I speak. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
She grimaces, dropping her eyes to the cake. “It said on Facebook. I might have, er, done a little online stalking.”
I huff a quiet, knowing laugh, because she’s not the only one. She doesn’t post a lot online, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been on there, looking to see what she’s up to. If she might say, in some cryptic way, that she missed me as much as I missed her. She didn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop me from looking. From hoping.
What truly stuns me, though, is that she’s here despite me telling her we couldn’t see each other anymore. Even though I pushed her away, she came back.
“I’m not a great baker,” Daisy admits, cheeks pink in the glow of the candles. “But there is one recipe I’ve mastered. I hope you like lemon cake.” An awkward laugh slips from her. “You’d better blow these out before I accidentally start a fire.”
I ignore her request, my heart snagging on her words. Lemon cake . They send goosebumps scattering across my skin, make my heart squeeze in my chest.
In that instant I know, without a doubt, that it’s a sign. I’ve never much believed in God, or the universe, but this is crystal clear.
“I…” I shake my head, my throat so tight it’s hard to get the words out. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”
“Of course.” Her eyes move over my face, filled with sadness and something else, something I don’t dare acknowledge. “Wes… it’s devastating that you lost Lydia, and then to lose your relationship with Jesse on top of that… But you don’t have to lose yourself. You deserve to have a day that celebrates what a wonderful man you are.”
Fuck .
Emotion tangles hot in my chest at the sincerity in her voice. How did I push this woman away? Why did I tell her I couldn’t see her?
“Did Jesse call?” she asks gently. I don’t even have to answer; a sardonic grunt of a laugh does that for me.
She frowns, genuinely annoyed on my behalf.
And that’s when it hits me. I’m keeping her away to protect my relationship with Jess, but for what? He hasn’t called or texted to wish me a happy birthday. He never calls. And when I think back to the way he behaved at Greenport, I hardly recognize him. I was there for him when he needed me; gave him food and put a roof over his head when he was more than old enough to do that for himself. I didn’t have to, but I did it because he’s my son.
And he never once said thanks.
I stare at Daisy, standing in my living room with a homemade lemon cake—a cake she somehow sensed I needed. And as I gaze at her face in the flickering yellow of the candles, I feel all my walls crumble. She’s here. She cares enough to be here with me, when my son won’t even talk to me. I’m desperately trying to protect my relationship with Jesse, but the relationship is nonexistent, and in doing so, I’m sacrificing the potential for something truly wonderful. Something that’s right in front of me.
And I’m sick of it.
You’ve been through hell, Wes. You deserve something good .
Pauline’s words from lunch come back to me, and resolve straightens my spine. I cross the room to Daisy and, taking a big breath, blow out the dancing yellow flames.
There’s only one wish on my mind this year, and it’s about damn time I make it come true.
Daisy grins as smoke rises from the candles, carrying the cake through to the kitchen. I follow, watching as she sets it on the counter, then turns back to me, gnawing on her bottom lip.
“I hope you got what you wanted for your birthday,” she murmurs, gaze moving over the Yankees hoodie I put on after showering at the pool.
I shake my head, stepping closer. She’s less than a foot away from me, and I don’t miss the way her eyes darken as she looks up. I swallow, knowing that once I say this, I can’t take it back.
But I don’t care anymore, because even if she is Jesse’s ex, I knew her long before he did. I’m not proud of myself for thinking this, but I can’t stop the thought that’s looped through my head ever since Jess brought Daisy home.
I saw her first .
As for her being inexperienced… I’m shocked to realize I don’t care about that as much as I thought I did. Maybe I should, but the fact is, I had a child with Lydia before she was even close to Daisy’s age. Daisy seems young to me now, but she’s old enough to know what she wants, and she wants this as much as I do. That much is clear. Besides, I don’t have to sleep with her. Not yet, anyway.
But I also can’t keep denying how much I want her.
“Daisy…” I inhale shakily, lifting a hand to her soft cheek. “What I really want for my birthday, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, is you.”